Logomania Then and Now

As part of our work in using fashion psychology to build PSYKHE, the team and I are creating a taxonomy for style preferences. Some correlations, which we’ve regularly talk about here on The Psychology of Fashion, are straightforward. Neurotics enjoying neutrals and darker colors, and those that are high on Openness steering towards more avant-garde and directional designs. I can usually perceive, or create a very good hypothesis, about why someone likes what they do. But there is one preference I struggle with: logomania.  

As an older millennial, born in ‘85 who lived through the logo-obsessed ‘90s (I was 12-15 during peak Tommy Hilfiger craze) I am naturally now strongly put off by big logos. I had overdosed on them. I recall my father having had enough, and forewarning me that he would stop buying me more Tommy for some time. But just after the disclaimer, the brand dropped these white jean shorts with the coveted American-flag-palette logo to the back belt-loop. Strong tears were shed, and dad was manipulated once more.

 Yesterday, my AI team showed me some heavily logoed Gucci track pants, which I found obscene. “So, who would wear these?”, they asked. At first, I thought Low Openness (they couldn’t really be intellectual, could they?) and perhaps moderately Neurotic (I mean we get it, it’s Gucci, how loud do you need to shout it?)

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And then I wasn’t so sure. Cue Instagram, and I saw said Gucci sweatpants on Maluma, and heavily logoed looks on Rosalia, two singers I am a big fan of. Despite not knowing either personally, I wasn’t getting Neuroticism from them. The team then offered comparable figures such as Billie Eilish. Despite the former two technically being Millennials, there is definitely something about having an unironic love of logos and skewing younger. Also frankly, I’m not sure about whether Gen Z is wearing these items ironically or not.

I realized the only way to understand the psychological value of logos is to remember why and how they worked for me when they did. And then the explanation became more simple. Tommy Hilfiger stood for all-American cool. Aaliyah wore it. TLC wore it. If you weren’t wearing it, you weren’t in the proverbial cool club. In some ways, I also think what the brand stood for united all the immigrants/children of immigrants in North America. It was “we started from the bottom (somewhere else), but now we’re (all) here”.

Destiny’s Child and Scarlett Johansson in Tommy Hilfiger in the 90s.

And essentially, nothing has changed. Those in their teens and early twenties adopt logos to signal their allegiance to a tribe or cause. But now, either the hype is around big luxury, or around skatewear brands like Supreme, which has a legitimate cult following. Why? Jonathan Gabay, author of Brand Psychology: Consumer Perceptions, Corporate Reputations told Vice.com: "Supreme was started in the right bit of New York by skaters. That makes it authentic, or seen to be authentic.” He adds: "A brand is an extension of one's self – psychologically, in terms of how you want the world to see you, or what you want the world to believe you are," says Gabay. "But deeper than that: what you believe you are, through that brand."

 The need to belong doesn’t go away, neither does the need to reinforce your values and allegiance to a tribe back to you. Perhaps as we get older, the more we know who we are, the more we communicate this through aesthetic and less rely on the overtness of a logo.

 But in the end, optically, logomania is undoubetdly vulgar. Telling The New York Times, “There is humor in the trend and a piquant irony”, said Sharon Graubard, a partner in Mint Moda, a trend forecasting firm in New York. Devotees often flaunt initials with a wink, embracing status logos as yet another coy expression of the “so bad it’s good’ zest for ugly-chic that gave rise in recent months to designer crocs and scrunchies. “In the end, it’s subversive, you know?”

Again, I’m not so sure. But let’s give Maluma and co a few more years.

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